Dark Journey (21 page)

Suddenly a powerful presence flooded her awareness, and these thoughts vanished like the blade of a switched-off lightsaber. Jaina whirled to face Kyp Durron.

For a long moment she simply stared at the Jedi Master, disconcerted and slightly disoriented by the rush of his power over her senses. At the moment of his arrival she had been without shields, without boundaries. Jaina felt as if she’d awoken from a deep trance to find herself gazing directly into a sun.

He reached around her and firmly shut the door, leaving them standing alone in the corridor.

Jaina’s shields swiftly returned, and the details of this unexpected meeting began to take focus.

Kyp was somberly dressed in sand-colored Jedi robes, and his silver-shot mane had been tamed into dignified curls. Carefully controlled anger rolled off him in waves, and the expression in his blazing green eyes left little doubt concerning its target.

Jaina’s chin came up in an unconscious imitation of her mother’s regal poise. “Kyp. I suppose you left dozens of mind-controlled servants and guards behind you, stumbling around the palace in confusion. That’s your style, isn’t it? Not to mention the only way to explain your presence here.”

“Getting out will be easier. You’ll be with me.”

“I don’t think so,” she said coolly.

“Think again. I’m here to take you to your brother’s funeral.”

That was the last thing Jaina had expected. Kyp’s blunt pronouncement tore a veil from her heart, and for a moment the terror and fury and agony of Anakin’s death filled her senses.

Jaina hurled away these emotions and replaced them with an anger that matched Kyp’s. She planted her fists on her hips and stared him down. “You’re going to ‘take me’? You and what Sith Lord?”

He stabbed a finger at her in a gesture that reminded her a little too much of her father in a parental snit. “Don’t challenge me, Jaina.”

“Give me one good reason.”

His eyes raked over her, and the expression in them dispelled any fatherly comparisons. “You couldn’t channel the Force wearing that dress. There isn’t enough room in there for it to squeeze through.”

Jaina’s cheeks flamed, but no suitable retort came to
mind. Worse, she had to admit that his words touched on the truth. She’d left her lightsaber in her room—the clinging scarlet gown wasn’t designed for such practicalities.

A disturbing truth came to Jaina: if she had her lightsaber at this moment, she would use it. Kyp lifted one eyebrow, as if he sensed her unspoken challenge.

This was uncharted territory for Jaina, and she was not at all sure of her course. But one thing was abundantly clear—she could hardly avoid the funeral now that Kyp had brought it so forcefully to her attention.

“I’ll change,” she said stiffly.

Kyp shrugged a leather strap off his shoulder and tossed her a canvas bag. He jerked his head toward the side room where Jaina and Ta’a Chume had spoken. “In there.”

Teeth gritted, eyes blazing, Jaina marched into the room. The door shut behind her, and she whirled to find Kyp standing there, arms folded.

“Oh, you’ll definitely want to rethink this last decision,” she told him.

He nodded toward the painted screen. Muttering, Jaina strode over and put the barrier between her and the Jedi Master. In the bag was a pair of low, soft boots that she recognized as her mother’s, Jedi robes identical to those Kyp wore, and a lightsaber. Jaina switched it on and considered the blade’s distinctive blue-violet hue.

“You went into my room.”

“That’s not a capital offense. Turn off the lightsaber before the temptation to dispense justice overwhelms you,” he said dryly.

She thumbed it off and turned her attention to the complex fastenings of her borrowed gown. Finally she stripped it off and tossed it over the screen. The loose Jedi robes were a relief—or would have been, under different circumstances.

Finally she came out, grim-faced but resolute. “Let’s get this over with.”

Kyp led the way to a side door, past a surprising number of guards and servants who appeared every bit as disoriented as Jaina had expected.

Jaina’s indignation surged high, then ebbed just as quickly. She couldn’t exactly fault the rogue Jedi for doing what every other Jedi did without guilt or debate. Uncle Luke routinely used mind control to sway people in small, day-to-day matters, as had his first Master, Obi-Wan Kenobi. No one seemed to question whether it was appropriate for a Jedi to use the Force to overpower other minds. In this regard, Kyp was no different from any of the more conservative Jedi. He just happened to be unusually good at this particular trick.

They passed through the grounds and to the outbuilding housing royal transport of various kinds. Kyp settled down on a landspeeder. His long fingers moved deftly over the controls, and the vehicle hummed to life.

Jaina sat down behind him. The landspeeder rose and skimmed quietly through the streets. They left the royal city behind, passed through the docks and circled the edge of the vast refugee camp. Kyp headed for the dense shadows of the public forest, and then eased the landspeeder through narrow paths that wound up a steadily climbing slope.

As they sped up the mountain, the trees began to thin and then gave way to scrub. Twin moons rose, casting their pale light on the strange rocky formations crowning the mountain. Gathered there, their somber faces clearly visible in the light of a hundred torches, were her family and friends.

Kyp pulled up the landspeeder a respectful distance away. Jaina quickly scrambled off and strode toward the gathering. It was bad enough to arrive with Kyp, worse
to come dressed alike. She would not complete the illusion of dutiful little apprentice by walking respectfully at his side.

Jaina’s gaze swept the small crowd, starting with her parents and then skimming over a surprisingly large group. All the survivors of the mission to Myrkr were there. Tenel Ka stood off to one side, still in the elaborate gown she’d worn earlier that evening. Jag Fel was with her, and Jaina noticed several others whose festive garb stood in stark contrast to the somber gathering. Their presence eased Jaina’s discomfort over her mode of arrival—obviously Kyp had brought word to others at the palace as well.

Then her unwilling gaze shifted to the center of the circle, and all other considerations dissipated.

They had brought Anakin here, and placed him on a high, flat stone. A ring of torches surrounded him, a bright border separating him from those who bore witness to his passage.

The shadows stirred, and Tahiri stepped into the circle of light. “Anakin saved my life,” she said simply. “The Yuuzhan Vong locked my body in a cage and tried to do the same thing with my mind. Anakin came to Yavin Four, alone, and brought me out.”

She fell silent as she gazed into the torchlight. A yearning expression crossed her scarred face, as if the impulse to follow Anakin one more time was too strong to ignore. Leia stepped forward and rested a hand on the girl’s shoulder. Jaina couldn’t see her mother’s face clearly, but something in it seemed to pull Tahiri back. The girl’s shoulders rose and fell in a profound sigh, and she yielded her place to another.

“Anakin Solo saved my life,” a soft, tentative voice repeated. A young refugee boy stepped into the firelight, and Jaina’s heart simply shattered.

He was a near-exact image of her brother at that age—
tousled light brown hair, ice-blue eyes, even the dent in the center of his chin.

“I never met Anakin,” the boy said. “People tell me I look like him. I don’t know why the lady on Coruscant wanted me to look like this. She promised that my mother and sisters would be safe if I let them change my face. I don’t know why,” he repeated. “All I know is that looking like Anakin saved me. Maybe it saved my family, too.”

“Viqi Shesh,” Kyp murmured, naming the devious senator Jaina had distrusted for quite some time. “Han told me about it.”

Jaina silently added another name to the list of scores as yet unsettled. Her eyes widened as her father stepped into the firelight.

“Anakin saved my life,” he said softly. “Mine, and a shipload of people I would have let burn into starfood. He made the hard decision at Sernpidal, the right decision. I hope he knows that.”

Jaina’s jaw dropped as Kyp Durron moved into the light. “I knew Anakin mostly through reputation, but I suspect that someday I will be able to stand before a solemn assembly and tell how this young Jedi changed—even saved—my life. The deeds of heroes send ripples spreading through the Force. Anakin’s life continues to flow outward, touching and guiding those who have yet to hear his name. Most of us here use the Force—this young man embodied it.”

Others came forward, but Jaina didn’t hear their words. She’d always known that Anakin was different, special. It seemed odd that Kyp Durron would be the one to find the words that eluded her.

At last the voices fell silent, the torches burned low. The rising moons converged, then began to sink along their separate paths toward the jagged forest horizon. Luke picked up one of the torches and moved forward.

This was the moment Jaina had dreaded most. Anakin was gone, and she understood that what was left was little more than an empty shell. But she had fought so viciously to win him away from the Yuuzhan Vong, and for what? To stand by and watch him destroyed now? It didn’t seem right. Nothing about Anakin’s death did.

Luke Skywalker approached the stone bier and lowered the torch. The flame spread, limning Anakin’s body in golden light.

The fire dissipated into thousands of dancing motes. These rose slowly into the sky, shimmering against the darkness like newborn stars. As they slipped away into the night, it seemed to Jaina that the stars shone a little brighter.

Tears filled her eyes as she gazed at the empty bier. A glimmer of insight flickered on the far edges of her perception—a glimpse, perhaps, of what Anakin might have known, might have become. Jaina blinked away the tears and slammed shields around her emotions.

Zekk came toward them. Jaina tensed. If just one person put his arms around her, she would shatter like overheated glass.

Kyp eased forward, subtly placing himself in the young Jedi’s path. Zekk’s gaze slid from her to the Jedi Master, and his dark brows drew together in a frown.

“We’re returning to Eclipse tomorrow morning with Master Skywalker.”

She folded her arms and nodded acknowledgement. “So this is good-bye.”

“You’re not coming?”

“Not for a while.”

He simply stood there, awaiting some word of explanation. Inspiration struck, and Jaina seized it at once. “Kyp asked me to be his apprentice.” She swept both arms out wide, inviting inspection of her borrowed
robes. “I’m thinking about maybe taking it for a test flight.”

Zekk regarded her silently. “Then you’re right—this is good-bye.”

He turned abruptly and strode away.

Jaina dropped her arms to her sides and managed a wry smile. “Well, that was rude.”

“Get used to it,” Kyp said softly. “Once word of this little evasion of yours gets around—and that should take about fifteen nanoseconds—you’ll find that rogue Jedi live in a world of temperature extremes. Things are either very hot or very cold.”

The incredulous stares leveled in her direction put her back up. “Evasion? Are you so sure I wasn’t serious?”

“No, I’m not,” he countered, “but then, neither are you. When you make up your mind, let me know. In the meanwhile, good luck with your friends,” he said, nodding toward the several young Jedi storming toward them. “When they’re finished with you, help yourself to the landspeeder. I won’t be returning to the city.”

Then he, too, slipped away into the night, leaving Jaina alone to face the approaching firestorm.

   The next morning Tenel Ka started her day with a twenty-kilometer run followed by an hour of weapons training under the critical eye of her father’s sword-master. The old man watched intently as she went through her routines.

Finally he nodded. “The sword and javelin are as good as ever. The feet, better. You will have to avoid battles that require you to use spear or staff.”

Tenel Ka accepted this advice with a nod, even as she noted that it was of limited practical value. In many ways, Hapes was an archaic culture. The physical disciplines she had learned with traditional masters had kept
her in good trim, but they were of little use in fighting the sort of battles that lay before her.

Still clad in a lightweight leather garment fashioned from Dathomir lizard skin, Tenel Ka made her way to her mother’s room, as she did each morning. Teneniel Djo often seemed cheered by this reminder of her homeworld.

As Tenel Ka entered her mother’s chamber, anticipation skittered over her like insects. She could never know just what she would find.

As usual, her mother sat at the window, staring out into the palace gardens. Her rich red-brown hair had faded to a dull and indeterminate shade, and she was far too thin. She looked disturbingly like a winter-starved bird, too dazed by cold and wind to take flight. But she looked up as Tenel Ka entered, and her brown eyes turned wistful at the sight of her daughter’s lizard-skin garments.

“That was a bright green once,” she observed. “It is faded, and wearing thin. When did you last have new leathers made? A year, almost two,” she mused, answering her own question. “The Yuuzhan Vong have held Dathomir for at least that long.”

Tenel Ka pulled a chair up close to her mother’s. She seemed unusually alert this morning; indeed, her eyes studied her daughter’s face with concern.

“You are troubled. The Yuuzhan Vong?”

“Nothing these days is entirely unrelated to the invaders.”

“They will come, of course,” Teneniel Djo said matter-of-factly. “You must prepare.”

She suppressed a sigh. “Mother—”

The queen reached over and patted her knee, cutting short the familiar protest. “I know your heart. You have never wanted to rule, and I would not wish it upon you. I chose a man, not a crown. Soon I will have neither. Isolder will find my successor.”

“You are getting stronger,” Tenel Ka said stoutly.

The queen smiled faintly. “I do not expect to die anytime soon. But neither can I rule.”